


Essence of Nightshade

by CiaraK_1996



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 13:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19319590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaraK_1996/pseuds/CiaraK_1996
Summary: Sansa is smarter than she looks and knows exactly how to get what she wants.





	Essence of Nightshade

** Sansa **

Her wedding day had come and despite her miserable and dead exterior since the day she found out about her engagement, today she decided to be happy, just to spite them. They would think her a fool and pity her, but she knew better. A smile brightened her eyes and coloured her cheeks. Everyone glanced at her with worrying looks which just made her want to laugh in their faces. She was almost at the Sept when a firm hand grabbed her.

“Ask, and I’ll kill him.” He rasped harshly.

She turned her gaze to Sandor Clegane and smiled, “I’ll be fine.”

“No,” He said solemnly, tears forming in his eyes, “You won’t.”

Inside the Sept she saw her husband-to-be, standing in as still as stone wearing a heavy yellow cloak with three running dogs and suddenly she was afraid again, but she couldn’t let her appearance falter now.

“You look radiate, my Lady,” Joffrey said smirking beside her, “Maybe you are stupid enough to believe that because he’s a knight he’s honourable.”

 

** Sandor **

Sandor Clegane had been drinking and fucking and fighting since he found out, more so than usual. His hands were bruised and bloody and his skin was covered in a wine-sweat almost all the time. He’d thought of nothing but killing his brother since he was a young boy, and now it was desperate, how could he let him touch _her?_

For the past week, he had gone to her and begged and pleaded for her to allow him to kill her betrothed, and every time the fool said he couldn’t, he shouldn’t, she’d be fine, and other stupid little songs. _She will_ not _be fine_ , he thought bitterly. His dreams were plagued by the memories of his first two wives, the first was a sweet girl, a local beauty, blonde and young. She had screamed terribly during her wedding night, no one saw her for days, and a few weeks later she had been buried in the meadow – officially she died of fever, but he had never heard of a fever that could bruise and break someone’s neck. The second wife he had only met once, it was after he left for Casterly Rock and he pitied the woman, she was tall and fearless, with thick brown hair and soft brown eyes. She had died birthing the broken remains of her child, they couldn’t tell what gender it had been before Gregor had beaten it to death inside its mother – officially, she fell down the stairs. After a few nights of dreaming of Sansa screaming and dying in such ways, he did everything he could not to sleep. But in the days up to the wedding, he realised he needed his strength to protect her as much as he could and asked for some essence of nightshade to knock him out each night.

Mostly he thought of killing Gregor, it was all he really thought about over the past 20 years, but then Joffrey would marry her off to someone else. He had even prayed that he would marry her to the Imp, he at least had respect for her. But Joffrey was not kind, as much fun it would be to marry her to a dwarf without a nose he always preferred violence. However, the thought had crossed his mind more than once that killing _Sansa_ would be more merciful, not that he thought he had the strength to do it.

Sansa had been her usual miserable self in the run-up to the wedding, no hint that this new situation made any change to her mood. She should be trying to throw herself from the walls into the Blackwater, drinking poison, cutting her wrists, something, he thought at first and then made his offer. He had been dumbfounded when she had refused with a smile and made her little excuse. So he asked, again and again, begged and pleaded on his knees, even swearing oaths to the Seven to keep her safe and take her to her brother, to kill for her. He told her what his brother had done, to his mother, father, sister, his wives, the atmosphere at Clegane Keep, how many vanished, how he treated his equals and his subordinates. Nothing moved her, she would just smile and say that she was already safe, making him promise not to do anything without her say so. The night before the wedding, he had come to her again and cried at her feet, she took pity and promised he could stop the bedding ceremony, but only without shedding blood.

The day mocked his mood, sunny blue skies and comforting warmth filled the air. His anger was boiling his blood while his fear was freezing it over again. He would make one more plea, one more beg before she was sold to his brother, sentenced to a slow and painful death. To his utter dismay she was glowing and smiling, standing in a radiantly beautiful ivory gown which complimenting her blooming womanly body to its full potential, her hair braided wonderfully with ivory ribbons. His stomach turned, it was all he could do not to throw up or kill everyone in sight.

He marched up to her and grabbed her arm, “Ask,” he growled, “and I’ll kill him.”

She smiled brightly at him, “I’ll be fine.”

His chest clenched, tears stinging his eyes, “No, you won’t.”

He didn’t go into the Sept, he couldn’t watch her marry him. He waited for the bells to toll and the lords and ladies of the court to leave the Sept. There was a small feast being held in the Queen’s Ballroom. His brother was quiet, probably trying to drown out the noise, it would be only a matter of time before he snapped and snapped someone’s neck. Sansa was smiling and laughing.

He was too distracted to see Tyrion Lannister waddle up to him, “Condolences.”

Sandor simply frowned, not taking his eyes off the newly married couple.

“I know you hate your brother,” The Imp explained, “Father told me what you told him. This terrifies you.”

“I was 10 when he married his first wife,” He growled, “He broke near every bone before breaking her neck…Of course, this terrifies me.”

He left the Imp, walking against the walls, always keeping them in is sight. He was dressed plainly without any armour, but he carried his one-handed sword and a couple of daggers, just in case blood was necessary. _Why am I listening to her_ , he cursed himself, _she doesn’t realise how much danger she’s in_. They were sharing a goblet of wine, Sansa would ask the fool-knight to fill it, take a sip and hand it to her husband who gulped to rest down. Neither touched their food much.

“Jealous, Dog?” Joffrey asked, drawing his attention for a moment.

“Concerned she won’t survive the night,” He growled looking back to them, “Isn’t the whole point of this to for her to birth some pups?”

Joffrey laughed, “You know, I had half a mind to marry her to _you_. As the second son with no title is so much more insulting but taking her away from the Mountain seemed like a bad idea.”

“Aye, it would be.” He rasped, thinking back to the toy he should never have touched, even just to play with for a few hours.

Suddenly Sansa got to her feet and approached him, smiling.

“Will you dance with me?”

“No,” He growled, “Why the fuck are you happy?”

“Because I know what I’m doing.” She said, “Come on.”

She grabbed his hand and lead him into a dance, he had no idea what he was doing and tried to follow her lead.

“Oh, and by the _gods_ , never call me sister,” She laughed, “That would be awful.”

Then she collapsed, he quickly grabbed her before she hit the floor and pinched her skin, “Sansa?”

“What the fuck have you done!” Gregor roar, lurching to his feet only to sway and hit the floor hard.

 

** Sansa **

She woke to a ringing in her head, “W-whatt happened?”

“You were poisoned, my lady.” Maester Pycelle said solemnly, “Not sure what with yet.”

“My husband?” She said groggily, trying to sit up.

“He’s dead,” Lord Tywin said flatly, “He seemed to have drunk more of the poisoned wine than yourself, so the poison took full effect.”

Sansa let out a sob, “W-who could…”

“Ser Dontos Hollard, was…questioned,” Lord Tywin explained, “He admitted much, including giving you the strangler you found in your goblet not a week ago. Thus far, he has not admitted which poison was inside your goblet. Nor who has been paying him.”

“Paying him?” Sansa said horrified.

“Yes,” Tywin stood from his chair and walked to her bedside, “We found gold in his chambers, and pieces of burned parchment in his hearth. Burned letters. One on his dresser was addressed to you, Lady Sansa.”

“Oh gods,” Sansa shook terrified, “He…he said he’d take me home, but he was becoming…forward. I stopped seeing him. I-oh gods, I said I’d rather die!”

She burst into tears, when she calmed down a little Lord Tywin spoke again, “He said as much, and said he had hopes of marrying you himself.”

Sansa shuddered and sobbed quietly.

“There will be a trial,” Lord Tywin said walking towards the door, “In three days, it should not take long. I do not believe your life is still in danger, Lady Sansa. The man paying him was paying for you. The poison seems to be an act of his jealousy.”

“When the betrothal became public,” Sansa whispered.

 

** Sandor **

She’s not dead. It was all he could think about, she’s not dead. Some fool tried to kill her and killed her husband instead.

He was walking up the Tower of the Hand, to his liege Lord. Inside he found him scribbling on parchment.

“You wished to see me, my Lord.” He rasped in his usual tone.

“Ah, Lord Clegane,” He ignored Sandor’s discomfort at his brother’s newest title, “Do you know why I made Gregor a Lord?”

 “No, my Lord.”

“To be a more befitting husband to Lady Sansa,” Lord Tywin said, never looking up from his parchment, “And now he is dead.”

“Aye.”

“And Lady Sansa has not produced an heir to the North, loyal to the Iron Throne.”

Sandor remained silent.

“It would seem we must find a new husband for Lady Sansa, one that will hopefully live long enough to give her a son, or even two.”

Again, he remained still and silent.

“Joffrey seems to think it befitting to marry a wolf to a dog,” Sandor nearly kneeled over and pained himself to not move a single muscle, “And you have always been very loyal to House Lannister. Live longer than your brother.”

He waved his hand to dismiss the Hound, never having so much as glanced up from his writing. He was numb as he descended the stairs and found himself outside Sansa’s door. Hesitantly he knocked.

She opened the door and smiled, her paleness and dark eyes were the only hints of her being poisoned only two days ago. She gestured him inside, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Sandor slumped into a chair still rather shocked, “Got any wine?”

Sansa smiled, “Yes, but I fear it’s not to your taste. And, I’m sorry about your brother.”

She handed him a goblet of Arbour Gold, “You have nothing to apologise for.” he rasped, but he didn’t drink the wine, simply stared at it as if not sure what to do.

Sansa laughed, “I’m not going to poison you.”

He took a sip of his drink and frowned at her, “Why would I think you were?”

Sansa turned to him, her smile waning as a perplexed frown began to appear, “Well I did poison your brother.”

Sandor chocked on his wine, trying to make sense of her words, “You…what?”

Sansa giggled, her smile glowing, she walked close to him and spoke quietly, “I told you, I knew what I was doing.”

Sandor stared at her, confused and conflicted, “You poisoned him,” he said slowly, “How, you…”

Sansa smiled, “Yes rather clever wasn’t it, I couldn’t believe my luck when I found the poison over a week ago. Ser Dontos had given me a hair net, asking I wear it to the King’s wedding. It was beautiful, with dark amethysts, only I spilled a cup of water on it and the stones dissolved. I shoved some into a goblet and took it to a maester who told me it was poison. It solidified my innocence. I also didn’t like the idea of framing someone else for my crime, but he was going to frame me for regicide. As for the rest…”

_Two weeks earlier…_

Sansa was numb and horrified, she knew what a monster Ser Gregor was, she had seen what he had done to his own brother. How could she marry _that?_ The answer was clear, she couldn’t…she wouldn’t. Killing herself seemed an obvious choice, but that required strength which she lacked, she had thought of it before, but hanging she might be found in time, jumping terrified her and she was always being watched, and poisons were hard to get. After two days of contemplation she realised that essence of nightshade was poisonous if administered in a large enough dose, but mostly given to soothe nerves or help someone sleep. The following morning she went to a maester and explained she was having trouble sleeping.

“One drop for nerves,” He said cautiously, “three for a deep and dreamless sleep, more than that can cause death or a sleep that will not end. Ten is _always_ fatal.”

“How much in this vial?”

“Twelve drops.”

“I will be back in four days then.” She said with a smile.

Four days later she was given another 12 drops, this time she took the first 12 in hand and looked at it thoughtfully. She couldn’t risk pouring the poison into his goblet, anyone might see, so she had thought of something better and more dangerous. Slowly with an empty cup in front of her she opened the small vial and emptied its entire contents into her mouth and held it there, she glanced into her looking glass pleased to see she wasn’t obviously holding the liquid in her mouth. Then she spat the contents onto the empty cup, and hid it under her bed where it wouldn’t be easily found. She felt a little sleepy but not enough to appear poisoned, so she stood and began moving about as if dancing to quickened her heart and in moments she fell to the floor. She woke in bed with a handmaiden worrying over her.

“Don’t worry,” Sansa said groggily, “I just had too much wine.”

After the maid left she took out the essence of nightshade and counted the drops; eight. Eight was close to 10 and the maester had said any more than five could cause death, but Mountain was a large man. She contemplated in and after some thought, she emptied the cup into a slightly larger vial along with the second vial she received last night. _That’s 20_ , she thought, _enough to kill him, I hope, and two days before the wedding I’ll get another 12_.

Days passed, and the Hound became more and more desperate. At times she saw tears in his grey eyes and her heart broke, she wanted nothing more than to show him the poison, to tell him his brother would never harm her, but she couldn’t risk it. She knew that if she was caught spitting the first vial into his cup she would need to drink the second one fast.

Joffrey wanted to add to her torment and brought up the subject often, talking of his strength and viciousness, as if she had forgotten he had beheaded his own horse and proceeded to attack Ser Loras Tyrell after losing a joust. The Hound had saved Ser Loras for no reason other than it was his brother attacking him.

“I am glad to be marrying such a prestigious knight, your Grace,” Sansa said dutifully, “It is more than I deserve.”

Joffrey seemed annoyed by her supposed pleasure at the situation, “My dog seems to think he’ll beat you to death, rape you and break you.”

“But aren’t all knights supposed to be gallant and kind?” Sansa asked innocently.

“Perhaps I should have fed you to my dog.” Joffrey huffed.

Joffrey had been summoning her more and more as the wedding approached when the Mountain finally arrived in Kings Landing only two days before the wedding she was presented to him. She had seen him once before, remembered he was tall, but now that she was to marry him he seemed to have grown. Joffrey laughed, “He’s impressive, isn’t he? He might rip you apart when he gets inside you.”

Sansa swallowed, and look up at him. He looked as if he were carved of stone, there was no gleam in his eyes, no movement but his heavy breathing. He didn’t even look impressed with his young bride-to-be.

“Do you like her, Clegane?” Joffrey said turning his attention away from her.

He grunted, “Small.”

“Yes she is, isn’t she,” He said smiling, “But she’s _so_ much fun to hurt.”

A small smile crept onto the Mountain’s lips. _I’m going to kill you_ , she reminded herself.

The morning of the wedding she allowed herself to dream, she imagined she was marrying the Hound, someone who cared. Cared enough to vow to kill his brother, who gripped his sword whenever Ser Gregor dared to look at her. Her gown made her look womanly and beautiful, making her cleavage look full. She decided to hide the vials there and rearranged herself in the mirror in the hope they wouldn’t show.

She was sad to find the Hound had not followed herself into the Sept, but then he would only likely interrupt the ceremony. The feast was a small one, but she could not eat. She had asked Ser Dontos to be her cupbearer, to _protect her_ in case her husband became violent. He had all but danced at the offer. She made a pattern of drinking from the goblet first and then giving it to her husband who drained to cup in seconds, she allowed herself to smile at that. Most of the people in the room were more involved in private convocations, eating, drinking or dancing to bare them any mind, but the Hound stared, barely blinking. Even when Lord Tyrion went to speak with him he didn’t take his eyes off them. He began moving around the room, moving closer to them. _I’m running out of time_ , she thought as she saw the afternoon grow late. Then Joffrey distracted him, she grabbed the vial and appeared to wipe her mouth with a napkin, the gestured to Ser Dontos to fill their cup and slowly spat the poison into the cup and handed it to her husband, who drank it all.

"May I go and dance?”

He grunted which she took to be a yes and walked towards Sandor Clegane. A few moments of dancing and everything went black.

 

_Two Days Later…_

Sandor Clegane stared at her, dumbstruck. She had killed him, this young, innocent, beautiful, girl, killed the most feared warrior in Westeros.

“So... when you said you’re _'sorry'?_ ” He said slowly.

Sansa smiled, “I know how much you wanted to kill him, but then I’d lose you too.”

Sandor was suddenly reminded about his convocation with Lord Tywin that seemed to be a century ago, “About that…they’re going to marry you to someone again.”

“Oh?” She said innocently.

Sandor frowned, and avoided her gaze, “Me.”

He looked up to find her smiling broadly, “Joffrey’s a fool.”

Sandor frowned at her, more confused than ever.

“I kept expressing how _happy_ I was to be marrying an anointed knight, and then they made him a lord to which I seemed _happier_ ,” She explained, “It annoyed the hell out of him. He almost changed his mind, but he kept listening to the horror stories of what Gregor had done during his life, to his past wives. He thinks that marrying you will be just as bad, but I know different.”

He looked down to find his cup empty and stayed trying to sort through the information, “You planned all of this? Including marring…me?”

Sansa nodded, beaming. She was smiling so much it made his heart swell, he hadn’t seen her smile since her father was imprisoned over half a year ago.

“So,” She said grasping his hand in hers, “Will you marry me?”


End file.
